


Start Somewhere

by Hammocker



Series: Everybody Hates Will (Will has Cats AU) [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Comfort/Angst, Crying, Depression, Everybody Hates Will, M/M, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 01, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5481422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hammocker/pseuds/Hammocker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will wasn't used to people putting in effort for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Start Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't already, you should go back and read the previous parts of this series. This piece can be read alone, but certain elements are more properly established earlier.

Will couldn’t bring himself to sit down as he waited for the doors to Hannibal’s office to open. He couldn’t even bring himself to down the hood of his jacket, a necessity for walking around in public as Will Graham. The whole building was much too nice for him to be anywhere near it. Something was guaranteed to go wrong and a brick could end up being chucked at his face. Will didn’t need any more of that.

One of the heavy, wooden doors opened with whumph that made Will jump. He turned to find Hannibal standing in the doorway.

“Hello, Will,” he said, cocking an eyebrow just slightly. “May I take your coat?”

Code for “lose the hood,” Will was sure.

“Alright,” he agreed, slipping out of it as he headed into the room.

He stared around at the room, Hannibal’s office, if the desk at the side of the room was anything to go by. It looked more like a library to Will. Books lined shelves at each wall, an upper balcony held yet more books, and in the middle of the room were a couple of armchairs. Several statues sat on tables around the room, but one that looked like a deer of some kind caught Will’s eye. It all seemed simultaneously luxurious and stagnant. Maybe it was the lighting, dim like an old museum. In any case, the place put Will further on edge. Not to mention that he could feel Hannibal’s eyes boring into him. Will was very much out of his element.

“Please, sit,” Hannibal implored, stepping up so that he was no more than two feet behind Will.

“I’d rather not at the moment, if you don’t mind,” Will said, wandering to the left.

“Whatever makes you comfortable.”

He approached the deer statuette and stared over it. It was a mature stag, head tipped downward, huge horns angled forward. It could have been preparing to charge. Or maybe it was weathering a storm. Will found the life in its pose comforting among Hannibal’s otherwise stagnant decor. Yet at the same time, the deep, black stone that it had been carved from unsettled Will. Life-like as it was, an air of cold death hung over it. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“How are you feeling today, Will?” Hannibal asked. He had come up behind Will again, closer than before.

Will shrugged, the corners of his mouth pulling up tight. “Not awful. No one’s gone out of their way to belittle or injure me yet. That’s a good day for me.”

“You believe the people around you have intent to belittle and injure you?”

“I know they do,” Will said, shaking his head. “They’ve done it before, why wouldn’t they now?”

“Circumstances are ever-changing. Perhaps if you were willing to reach out now, the people around you might be more welcoming.”

“It’s been a long time, Dr. Lecter. I don’t even know if I remember how people function. Assuming they want me to function around them.”

“There isn’t any reason you can’t re-learn certain social skills at the very least.”

Did he want to re-learn? Was it worth the trouble at this point? No one wanted him around anyway. He didn’t really care to have them around either. People could act so oddly, so unpredictably. It was tiring for him.

Suddenly, Will felt something brush against his side and reflexively retracted from it. He whirled around to find Hannibal staring at him, calm as could be.

“Is something the matter?” Hannibal asked.

He was an arm’s length away from Will, but it didn’t look like he’d moved. Maybe Will was just paranoid. Probably, in fact.

“No. Nothing,” he said before ambling past Hannibal. No touching this time and no lazy steps following Will’s own. He didn’t stop until he was standing beneath the room’s balcony.

A few minutes passed before Hannibal spoke once again.

“It’s been mentioned to me that you possess a particular ability to mentally recreate crime scene.”

“I guess you could put it that way.”

“How would you put it?”

Hannibal asked too many questions. Too many Will didn’t know the answer to. It was usually so easy to ignore unknowns, but this shrink had to shove them in his face. He was starting to regret this meeting.

“It’s like- almost like I have a window into their minds, the killers’ minds. If I can see their work, I can understand their- their design. Put myself in their place.”

“You empathize with them?”

“Something like that. Whatever it is, it’s helped catch a lot of murderers and they keep asking me to do it. So I guess it’s good.”

“You take no pride in your work?”

“It’s not officially my work. I mean, I didn’t go to a scene to analyze it the first time, I was there to take pictures. I had an epiphany, I told Jack, he got someone convicted thanks to me, and now I get dragged along every time there’s a grisly murder or five. I guess it felt important for a while, but I can't bring myself to care anymore. It’s no different from running everyone’s errands.”

“How deep into the minds of these killers are you able to go?”

“Deep enough. Sometimes I think I might not be able to get back out. Or I might not want to.” He turned back to face Hannibal, though, he didn’t meet his eyes. “Anything to not be me.”

“You would sooner be in the position of these killers than your own?”

“It’s not the position, it’s the person,” Will said, shrugging. “Everyone hates Will Graham, and I hate being Will Graham. At least if I was a killer, they’d lock me up and no one would have to see me anymore.”

“Why don’t you kill?”

The question gave Will pause. Not for lack of an answer, but for how direct its wording was.

“I’ve never met anyone who truly deserved it. I don’t want to hurt anyone just because I can, just to make my life easier. I’ve never wanted to, that’s why.”

“As good a reason as any other.” 

Hannibal walked to the middle of the room and sat in one of the armchairs. He rested his chin against his palm and blinked thoughtfully.

“Would you mind simply telling me about yourself?” he asked.

“There’s nothing to tell. I live alone. I don’t have any real relationships. Sometimes I fly fish if I feel like it. That’s it.”

“You don’t live alone, Will.”

Will let out a harsh breath through his nose. “Unfortunately.”

“Tell me about them.”

Wandering over to sit across from Hannibal, Will started with, “Well, there are six now.”

They spoke idly from then on. Will described each of his cats’ habits, their treatment of him, how he’d come to take each of them in. He even diverged here and there to talk about odder happenings in his life thanks to them. Tiger finding mice in the house, Rags getting stuck in his sink cabinet, Snowball tripping him down the stairs. Hannibal listened, occasionally asking questions. He almost seemed interested, but Will couldn’t see why he would be. They were just cats.

It felt as though the session had taken much longer than an hour before Hannibal finally brought it to a close.

“I’m afraid our time has run out,” Hannibal said after glancing down at his watch. “However, I’ve no more patients today and am wondering if you might like to stay and have dinner with me.”

Will really wanted to go home, to get away from any potential harm that he’d managed to avoid so far. But he couldn’t help but think back to the breakfast Hannibal had brought him the prior week and just how good it had been. The color it had brought into his world. Did he really want to pass up on an opportunity to repeat that experience?

“I’d like that, yes.”

“Excellent,” Hannibal said, getting to his feet. “I’ll start immediately. Come.”

******

It had been at least half an hour since their session had ended and Will was milling about Hannibal’s dining room. He’d spent about fifteen minutes of that in the kitchen, watching and chatting with his host. It was a true spectacle, watching Hannibal cook. Not the actions themselves, but the enthusiasm behind them. It almost made Will want for that same passion, that same desire to do- something. Maybe he had felt that way at some point. Maybe.

He'd been told to head into the next room not long ago. Dinner was almost ready, it seemed. Will didn’t want to sit though. He was feeling a little on edge, really, but he didn’t want to complain or bail when Hannibal was doing something so nice for him. Even if it did still strike Will odd that Hannibal was doing anything nice for him at all. People didn’t just come out of nowhere and offer kindness, certainly not to him.

He wasn’t going to give in to his inhibitions though. Will was going to sit down, have a meal, and then leave as soon as possible. Easy.

Just as he felt like he might be able to relax, Hannibal walked in carrying two plates.

“Sit, please,” Hannibal said as he placed down the dishes.

Will stepped up to the table and gripped the back of his seat, glancing down at the plate in front of it. It gave him pause. He wasn’t sure what was being served exactly. There were greens, spinach, kale maybe. Some kind of sliced meat accompanied it, lamb or pork by Will’s estimate, covered with mushrooms and a spice of some variety. It smelled pleasant, but his stomach was turning. It was an utterly beautiful display, reflecting Hannibal’s process of creating it perfectly. Its physical properties were remarkable, yes, but the sheer amount of passion put into it was overwhelming. It couldn’t be for him. No one would ever put heart into something for him. Why would they? Why would Hannibal?

Will backed away from the table. His composure was crumbling by the second. The whole thing, the session, the invitation to stay, the care Hannibal was putting into food intended for him, it was twisting his insides in all the wrong directions. He needed to get out.

He stumbled up from his chair, movements shaky. Hannibal looked up just in time to catch him backing away towards the door.

“Will?” he said, striding over.

“I’m sorry, I need to go now,” he said, making to turn away.

Hannibal reached out and put Will’s wrist in an iron hold, keeping him from making a mad dash out of the room. He leaned down to look Will in the face.

“Will, I need you to tell me what is wrong exactly.”

“All of this,” Will said, his voice hoarse. “You’re setting me up, I know it, I don’t know why or for what, but you have to be, there’s no other way. I haven’t done anything to deserve this, you’re setting me up.”

He gritted his teeth and kept his head low, drawing his free arm up against his chest. It was stupid, blubbering like this to someone he barely knew. Why had he agreed to stay?

“Will,” Hannibal said, placing a tender hand to Will’s. “Please look at me.”

Taking a shaky breath, Will forced himself to tilt his head upward, only barely meeting Hannibal’s eyes. His expression had gone soft, brow unfurrowed and lips parted just slightly.

“I have absolutely no malicious intent towards you. I am here to help you. I promise that you are safe with me.”

Looking in Hannibal’s eyes and hearing him speak so kindly was too much for Will. Years of misery and loneliness all came out in a single moment, sparked by a sudden sense of hope. Will hadn’t felt anything like hope in so long. He didn’t know how to respond to it. Everything was too hot and his head was foggy and tears pricked from his eyes. All at once, Will was wracked with a sob.

His head went down once more as he let out a choked whimper. He didn’t want to let Hannibal see him like this; he didn’t want anyone to see him like this, but he couldn’t run anymore. He was too tired to run. His thoughts were all a mess and he didn’t understand it. Will squeezed his eyes shut and tried to forget that Hannibal was there at all.

Hannibal wasn’t having it. He kept Will close; not so close to prompt a struggle, but close enough that Will could feel his breath. Will couldn’t remember the last time he had been this close to another human being, physically and emotionally. He hadn’t even needed to initiate. Hannibal was doing this by sheer choice. It only fueled the confusion and distress spilling out of him. 

Hannibal stroked Will’s hand lightly, muttering comforting words to him. Will couldn’t understand what he was saying. In fact, he wasn’t sure if Hannibal was speaking coherently at all. If he was, Will didn’t recognize any of his words. Yet his tone was soft and easy, his speech acting as a soothing balm within Will’s aching skull. It would have made an excellent sleep aid as well.

They stood there for far too long. Long enough for Will’s tears to leave thick, reflective trails down his face and smudge his glasses until they were all but opaque. His sobs were lessened, his tears coming out in droplets rather than streams. Will wasn’t as hot, but he was still a mess. It wasn’t so bad, though. He might be a mess, but he wasn’t as miserable as he had been either. A weight had been lifted off of his back.

“I’m okay,” he said, letting his arms drop to his sides.

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Hannibal said, letting go of Will’s hand and wrist. “I don't demand you stay, Will. I do, however, believe that you will feel much better having eaten a proper meal. Wash your face, and, if you wish, join me once you’re done.”

He gestured to a doorway nearby. Without another word, Will hurried out through it.

He found the washroom easily and ran the cold water on the sink, pulling his glasses off. Leaning down, he splashed a handful of it against his too-warm flesh and shook his head. He was glad for the solitude. Washing tear streaks from his face was humiliating in and of itself, but having to do it around anyone else would be unbearable. He rubbed at his skin until it felt smooth and clean once again before taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it. As he held his glasses under the stream, Will decided that he wasn’t going to leave. Everything was going horribly, but he was going to get it over with. If he didn’t want to, he never had to come back, but he needed to complete this evening. He turned the water off, briskly dried his glasses, and headed back to the dining room.

As he re-entered, Will immediately noticed that two wine glasses had been placed down beside the plates along with utensils. Hannibal was sat at the head of the table, hands resting lightly over each other upon it. He hadn’t touched his food. Like he was expecting Will to come back. Confident in him, maybe.

“It's good to see you again,” he said.

Will stepped up and took his seat at last. He looked up in Hannibal’s direction, but continued to keep his eyes low.

“I’m sorry you had to see that. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s quite alright. Releasing one’s emotions is not unhealthy when done in appropriate situations.”

“I wouldn’t call having dinner at an acquaintance's house an appropriate time to break down into tears.”

“When it’s only you and I, Will, you’ve no need to worry.” He peered down toward Will’s dish. “But you must eat now.”

Will followed Hannibal’s eyes. His meal was sitting there still, as ardent as it had been upon first viewing.

“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted.

“You mentioned no allergies.”

“No, no, it’s not like that, it’s like- it’s like a cake. You want to have it and eat it too, but you can’t.”

“A cake is lovely to look at and have certainly. At some point, however, it must be eaten, or it begins to rot.”

“It just seems like a shame.”

“Perhaps. Hardly my best work, if I may be brusque.”

“You do this often?”

“Of course. I’d like to cook many more meals for you, but you must start somewhere.”

Hannibal made a good case. Will felt a pang of shame, having barely even thought that meals like these might be common in Hannibal’s home. Reluctantly, he picked up his fork and jabbed it into a slice of meat, prompting a trickle of juice to flow from the puncture. He shut his eyes and brought the fork to his lips, drawing in the thin strip of flesh. A flash of color struck his mind’s eye, bright and bursting. It was a shock to his system. His stomach was untwisted and so very empty. He needed more.

With considerations for courtesy in the back of his mind, Will began taking fast bites from the selection on his plate. It didn’t matter if it was greens or meat or mushroom; it was all more flavorful and more filling than anything Will had ever put together.

Halfway through his plate, Will caught Hannibal half-smiling out of the corner of his eye; the same expression from the day they had met. He was eating as well then, at a reasonable pace. His focus was quite clearly not on his food. Will would have been unsettled by the sense of being watched if he wasn’t distracted.

It didn’t take long for him to finish. With one last slice of meat safely chewed and swallowed, he placed his fork down on the plate. He wasn’t full exactly, but he was satisfied. Though, the leftover juice was incredibly tempting.

With his food gone, Will picked up his wine and sipped at it as he waited for Hannibal to be done or speak. The flavor was drier and less colorful than the food, but still welcome, comforting even. He casually eyed Hannibal every now and again, and felt himself being eyed any moment he looked away. It was a communicative exchange, Will was sure, but what it meant, he had no idea. He’d never been an expert on nonverbal interactions, or even verbal interactions. At least words gave him some solid content to work with.

Only once Hannibal had also finished did Will find it in himself to speak up once more.

“Thank you. For all this.”

“You’re very welcome. Though, I’ve hardly done anything at all, Will.”

“That’s not true.”

“I appreciate your sentiment,” Hannibal said as he stood from the table. “If we’re to justify it, then I insist you come over for meals more often.”

“You don’t think that’s a little unprofessional?”

“No more so than inviting you to stay after our initial appointment,”

“I guess not,” Will conceded. “Maybe I will.”

“Excellent,” Hannibal said, picking up both their dishes and heading for the kitchen.

Left to his own devices, Will stared forward, lips pursed. What did Hannibal want from him? He had to want something; everyone else did, after all. Or maybe he really was just a genuinely kind person. Maybe, just maybe he even liked Will as an individual. Maybe he was unique. Probably not, but Will could dream. Then again, if he simply skipped their next appointment, Hannibal probably wouldn’t even notice. Will sighed and took his last gulp of wine. At least the whole ordeal had been enjoyable while it lasted.

**Author's Note:**

> I always appreciate comments, critiques, corrections, and such. If you have any feedback at all, you're very welcome to share.


End file.
